


Conditioning

by PhenixFleur



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alternate Universe - Monster Falls, Bill is an evil fuck, Blood, Brainwashing, Dehumanization, Dipper puts up a good fight though, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Hunter AU, Hunter Bill, I Cannot Stress that Enough, I'm not sorry fuck it, It's pretty goddamn graphic not even gonna lie, No shipping whatsoever, Older Deerper, Physical Abuse, Someone needs to call the ASPCA on Bill, Stockholm Syndrome, Torture, Violence, seriously
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-17
Updated: 2016-03-17
Packaged: 2018-05-27 06:21:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6273190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper receives a present that spells the beginning of the end of his struggle to hold on to his sanity (and sense of humanity) while in Bill's clutches.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Conditioning

**Author's Note:**

> Well, shit.
> 
> There's no fluff here. I cannot stress that enough. There's no shipping, either. It's dark as fuck; look at those tags, man. Set sometime after 'Dinner's Served', since there are references to Dipper's broken hindleg; not so much a continuation as a divergent one-shot. Again, if you're only used to my fluff, you might wanna skip this one. : )

"Pet."

The sound of the hunter's voice summoning him jostled Dipper out of the near trance he'd slipped into while focusing intently on the book he was reading, peacefully curled up in a warm bundle of fur in his bed. He'd read it before, but he currently had a limited supply in the lodge until Bill made good on his promise to rustle up a few more at some point. Realizing he'd already hesitated for a few seconds too long he dropped the book immediately, shrugging his blankets off and leaping to his hooves.

An empty wine glass was thrust carelessly in his direction and he rushed to grab hold of the vessel before it hit the ground. A single golden eye, glittering in the light cast by the fireplace, fixed it's gaze on him. "Refill, pet." The hunter lazily waved his hand in the direction of the kitchen in a gesture of disinterest. "Make it snappy."

Dipper nodded rapidly, turning on his hooves to fulfill the request but pausing only a few feet away as he heard the hunter clear his throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

He froze in place, feeling a sharp twinge of guilt bloom within his chest; how could he have  _forgotten_?  Dipper whirled around, ducking his head obediently and responding in an apologetic tone that he hoped negated his mistake. "Yes, Master."

Hazarding a glance upwards, he exhaled in relief at the appeased look on the hunter's face. "Good boy."

He couldn't suppress the brief waggling of his scut at the praise, heart swelling with joy at those words. It wasn't much, but he craved any validation that he was behaving as expected of him. He enthusiastically pranced towards the kitchen with a bounce in his step, light on his hooves; on the way there he considered surprising the hunter with some of the venison stew he liked for dinner the next day. His cooking skills had definitely improved over time, and the flattery he received in return served as further incentive to try harder.

He wanted - no,  _needed_  to make Bill happy. It was his purpose as the hunter's treasured pet, after all.

 

* * *

 

"Hey kid, I got you a little something. Since you've been  _so good_  lately."

Dipper wasn't asleep, but he hesitated before stirring anyway. His bed of blankets in the corner was far more warm and inviting than anything that could possibly lie outside of it, and although his hindleg was now fully healed it still ached whenever rain approached as it did now. However, he knew good and well that the hunter wasn't above dragging him out of bed by the collar and preferred to depart on his own initiative. He shifted where he lay, then slowly stood up, flinching at the uncomfortable stiffness in his right hindleg. After a few seconds the discomfort lessened and he kicked his makeshift bedclothes away before approaching the hunter, cautiously. He could never be sure whether he'd be met with a completely arbitrary act of aggression or not.

"Um...thank you?" He ventured. There was something about Bill's vibrant smile that made him  _very_  uneasy. Not that this was a new development, but their worst encounters tended to begin with a supposed gesture of kindness on the hunter's part. As far as he was concerned the silver wrapped package being presented to him was a bomb ready to explode the moment he touched it.

"Go on and open it!" Bill shoved the package into his arms, watching him eagerly while Dipper carefully peeled away the wrapping paper, revealing a white box. He lifted the lid with no small amount of trepidation, hoping the contents weren't  _actually_  explosive.

Inside was something he dimly recognized, yet didn't understand the context of. "W-what is this?" He stammered, examining the object more closely. It appeared to be a black band composed of the same rough material as the leash Bill sometimes dragged him around on. At the center, instead of an identification tag, a tiny, nondescript black box was attached to the fabric. After a few seconds of further contemplation it finally dawned on Dipper that this was a device colloquially known as a shock collar.

His heart sank within his chest.

He looked back up at the hunter; the anticipation on the man's face only served to make him further consider dropping the box and making a run for it.

"I figured it was time for an upgrade," Bill announced, reaching out to run a finger over the leather collar he already wore. "This old one's kinda out of style, you know?"

Given that Dipper hadn't seen anyone besides the hunter for what had to be months the joke wasn't particularly amusing, but he managed to keep a straight face instead of the dour expression he'd have been unable to avoid weeks ago. Averting his gaze with the apprehension already beginning to take hold of him and causing his hands to shake, he retrieved the collar from the box. It felt like a snake in his hands. "Do you want me to..."

"Allow me."

By now he automatically tensed up whenever the hunter came within an inch of touching him, and this time was no exception. It took every ounce of self-composure he could muster to avoid collapsing into a shuddering heap as Bill unfastened the leather collar and carelessly tossed it aside before slipping the new collar around his neck, tightening with just enough slack to allow him to breathe. He heard the soft metallic clink of the hunter rummaging around in his pocket for something, followed by the click of what could only be a lock.

His heart sank further; there was now little hope of removing it without assistance that would definitely not be forthcoming. He lowered his head, keeping his eyes trained on the wrapping paper at his hooves and flinching at the hand that slid along his spine. "Looks good on you, pet." The hunter commented, pleasantly. "What do you think?"

Dipper wracked his brain for a response that wouldn't result in being hit. The moment's hesitation proved to be a mistake; before he could open his mouth to answer a jolt of electricity crackled at the back of his neck, only sharp enough to sting - but he yelped anyway, drawing away from the hunter in surprise. "Shit!"

Bill's expression never wavered as he repeated the question. "It looks good, right?"

This time he clearly felt the split second of vibration before the shock hit, much like the sensation of being roughly pricked with a needle; he yelped again, stumbling backwards as his already overly anxious body responded in perfect deer fashion: panic. His heart rate shot up as the addled cervitaur backed up against the side of the couch, breathing heavily; another pinprick, then another, and oh god he wanted to run, just  _run run run_  until he found somewhere to hide where this wasn't happening, somewhere far away from this nightmare, and the pinpricks  _kept coming and he couldn't stand anymore please make it stop_

He only dimly registered the fact that he'd crumpled to the ground, shuddering; the hunter's fingertips running along the incline of his jaw did little to soothe his now completely frayed nerves. "Come on, kid. I don't want to burn this thing out  _already_."

"It looks good," Dipper whimpered, voice raspy with desperation. "It looks good."

"Great! I'm glad you like it." Dipper risked a glance upwards and immediately regretted the decision; Bill's eye had taken on the unsettling narrow iris and gleaming golden sclera that it often did when he was in his element. The hunter reached into his pocket, fishing out what appeared to be a tiny white block that Dipper guessed was the remote for the collar, holding it up for him to see. "Now what do you say?"

"Thank you," Dipper replied hastily. Had he been in control of his bodily functions and far more focused he would have internally recoiled in shame, but for now all he wanted was to get the hunter off his back, dignity be damned.

"Thank you  _what?_ "

The question caught him completely off-guard. "I don't..." Another sharp pinprick, directly into the back of his neck. "I don't..."

"Hm." The hunter tapped a finger against his chin in mock contemplation for a few seconds. "Oh, I've got it!  _Master._  I think I like the sound of that."

Even in his state of distress the very notion of referring to the asshole using such terminology struck Dipper as both nauseating  _and_  ridiculous, and the "Seriously?" slipped past his lips before he could swallow it.

Bill raised a blonde eyebrow. "Does it look like I'm kidding, Pine Tree?"

There were many,  _many_  things Dipper wanted to say in response, ranging from the merely incredulous to the actively insolent, but the sore patch on his neck and the fact that he just  _couldn't_  stop shaking negated all of it. "...thank you, Master," he replied with heavily feigned deference, ignoring the twisting sensation in the pit of his stomach.  

"Like you mean it, kid." The hunter's thumb hovered over the remote, drawing closer and closer to the button...

"Thank you, Master," Dipper choked out, burying his disgust to stew over later. He braced himself for the coming barrage of pinpricks and was subsequently relieved when none were forthcoming. Instead he cringed as Bill stroked his hair fondly; the action sent bile rising into the back of his throat, and he knew that as soon as Bill left him alone he'd be losing the small amount of food he'd eaten that day.

"We'll work on it," the hunter said, smiling; the gesture didn't reach his eye, which remained as cold as ever. Dipper resisted the urge to cower beneath his touch, gritting his teeth until Bill withdrew, flashing him another smirk before heading off to the trophy room.

Dipper almost tripped over his hooves in a madcap dash to the bathroom, just making it to the toilet bowl before emptying the contents of his stomach and then some, heaving until his legs gave way, dumping him on the floor where he lay weeping piteously.

The collar around his neck seemed to constrict, making it so very difficult to breathe.

 

* * *

 

The days that followed were absolute hell, and not just because of the newly acquired millstone that weighted his spirits down. Whereas the hunter had developed a reputation for general cruelty and arbitrary violent behavior, it escalated considerably after the collar. In addition to activating the shock collar frequently, even when Dipper had done absolutely nothing to deserve it, Bill made a point of continually treating him like the animal he'd been accused of being, stripping him of his humanity one aspect at a time.

Meals had always been an unpleasant experience; not only did the hunter not feed him nearly enough, forcing him to swallow his personal pride and beg for more, but it left him missing the autonomy to choose what  _he_  wanted to eat, when he wanted to eat it. It was such a small thing, but he'd somehow taken it for granted, and in the miraculous case that he managed to escape and return home he'd appreciate it for the blessing it was.

He'd expected  _something_  to be different after washing his face that first day and taking a few deep breaths to steady himself before meekly making his way to the kitchen. Surprisingly, the hunter wasn't a terrible cook, and whatever he whipped up was usually quite palatable, although Dipper no longer questioned what the meat was after some comments that suggested that he might have been fed venison at some point. What he didn't know couldn't give him nightmares.

Whatever was on the menu that evening smelled pretty appetizing; it appeared to be some kind of stew, and Dipper found himself actually looking forward to a bit of comfort after the horror from earlier that afternoon.

Which is why he felt his heart twist rather painfully as, instead of placing his plate on the table, the hunter laid it on the floor beside his chair. "Eat up, pet."

Dipper gaped at him, glancing back and forth between the plate and the empty table surface in front of him, as if struggling to reconcile himself with the fact that this was happening. His hesitance earned him another few pinpricks, startling him away from the table and sending him crashing into the counter behind him, heart rate picking up again. 

"Pets don't sit at the table," the hunter informed him, smirking, and pulled back his own chair to settle into it. 

"But..." Dipper stared at him. "But..."

Several pinpricks, causing him to cry out in pain; perhaps Bill had adjusted the intensity of the collar. "Get down there, kid."

Face flushed with shame, the cervitaur slowly made his way to the other side of the table, reaching out to grab a fork...only to be interrupted by a single pinprick. "Nuh-uh!" Bill commented in a singsong voice; he was obviously getting a real kick out of humiliating him. "Those are for  _people_."

'I'm a person,' Dipper thought, sadly, but he kept it to himself for the moment. His neck hurt. 

He lowered himself to the ground in front of the plate, eyeing it with a sense of foreboding. He was starving; after not having eaten since that morning his stomach was a gaping hole, but this...he couldn't bring himself to do this. It was a betrayal of the part of him that was still human, adhering to the animal the hunter seemed determined to reduce him to. The prospect of eating with his hands wasn't  _that_  dreadful, but the very notion of giving in to that sick fuck was unbearable.

But God, he was so very hungry.

Bill watched him; Dipper noticed his eye was gleaming again. "What's wrong, Pine Tree? Aren't you hungry?"

_Fuck you_. Dipper ignored his growling stomach, face set in a grim expression as he lifted his head and locked eyes with the hunter. "No."

For a moment he saw the hunter's characteristic smirk waver, albeit only for a second or two. Bill shrugged, as if he was completely unaffected by the show of defiance. "Suit yourself, kid."

Dipper kept his eyes trained on the ground for the rest of dinner, trying his damnedest to ignore both the increasingly enticing plate full of food in front of him and the sound of the hunter savoring his meal, occasionally grinning down at him with his sharp, sharp teeth. 

Any plans to sneak into the kitchen to steal something from the pantry after Bill passed out for the night were precluded by the hunter chucking him in the cage in the basement immediately after he finished eating. He made sure to shut off the lights on his way out, leaving Dipper huddled up against the bars in the dark, dozing fitfully and dreaming about ice cream sundaes, of all things.

Breakfast the following morning proceeded just as dinner had, a battle of wills with Dipper pointedly refusing to eat on the floor and Bill blithely ignoring his pitiful attempt at rebellion. He didn't even bother to use the collar to force him to eat, although he always made sure to chain him up between mealtimes to prevent the cervitaur from seeking out food on his own. Dipper managed to fill his empty stomach with water from the tap in the bathroom, but his body  _needed_  food, even more so with the requirements that came along with being part deer.

By the third morning he was too weak and dizzy to move from his bed, and when the hunter triumphantly placed a plate of food on the floor before him he obediently ate ravenously, shoving aside his self-loathing in favor of sating a biological need that he could no longer deny himself of. All the while Bill sat beside him on the couch, stroking his ears in a manner that was equal parts loving and possessive while Dipper did his best not to throw up his first meal of the past few days at the man's touch. 

 

* * *

 

His small living space became a point of contention on its own. He'd grown used to napping curled up on the couch, which he still had access to even when tethered to the wall. Ever since the transformation several years before his senses had sharpened, namely olfactory and auditory, and the faint yet fairly distinct odor of the hunter that had embedded itself into the upholstery over time always set him on edge. But the cushions were soft and cozy, and he took comfort wherever he could get it, tucking his legs beneath him and slumbering until Bill returned and woke him up to harass him as usual. 

The afternoon during the second day of his hunger strike went awry without warning; Dipper found himself being shaken awake from dreaming of Stan, Soos and himself ferrying Mabel to the lake to allow her to swim around for awhile unhindered (long before she'd outgrown all of her tanks and they'd taken to leaving her there for the majority of the year) by a particularly sharp jab into this neck, right at the bottom of his hairline, followed by someone roughly shoving him onto the floor. The startled cervitaur floundered for a moment, working his way back to consciousness and blearily gazing up at his captor. "Pets don't sit on the sofa without permission," Bill chided him. 

This was absolute bullshit, and against his better judgment Dipper scrambled to his hooves to protest - immediately being rewarded with another jolt of electricity for his trouble. The shocks  _were_  becoming gradually more unpleasant, no longer merely irritating and now legitimately painful, and so many in such  short succession meant that the discomfort was beginning to linger for a moment before fading. Even still, he opened his mouth to question the new ordinance, then stiffened, stricken with a sudden wave of actual  _fear_  that caused his limbs to lock up and his instincts to flee run out of control. Bill was  _staring_  at him, lips curving into the smirk that appeared to be his default expression, but his iris had once again taken on its disturbing demonic appearance. His gaze seemed to delve past the cervitaur's mental defenses and seize hold of his ability to resist his intimidation. Dipper's body began to tremble uncontrollably, and he took a cautious step backwards, unable to break eye contact. "I...I..."

Bill shrugged, leaning forward to scratch around the base of his antlers; the action sent an involuntary pleasant tingle tricking down his spine. "It's okay, kid. You  _are_  just a dumb animal, after all. You can't help it."

Hatred flared up in Dipper's chest, contrasting with the apprehension preventing him from giving in to the urge to run; instead he slowly looked away, nodding in deference and prepared to return to his no very inviting pile of blankets beside the couch. Before he could turn away the hunter seized his collar, dragging him closer and pointing to a spot on the floor within his reach. Dipper complied with the unspoken request, folding his legs beneath him and bowing his head so the hunter could continue idly stroking the delicate velvet coating his developing antlers. Bill settled back against the cushions with a sigh of contentment, allowing his eyes to slip shut. "You're such a good pet, Pine Tree."

_I hate you. I hate you. I hate you so much._  The phrase ran throughout Dipper's head, building up to a mantra that grew even more frenetic after being dragged up the stairs to sleep next to the hunter's bed. He didn't sleep at all that night, both afraid to move for the fear of waking Bill up, but also due to the seething contempt boiling within him and keeping him from relaxing enough to drift off no matter how exhausted he was. He could tell that he was reaching a breaking point, far beyond his previous breakdowns, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could stand the current treatment he was receiving. The physical and emotional abuse was one thing, but the denigration of his intelligence and flagrant disregard for his rights as the human being he was at his core were, to him, far worse. 

Unfortunately the incident set a precedent for the days to come; the couch was off-limits most of the time save for whenever Bill requested his presence, and more often than not he was relegated to sitting beside the hunter whenever he lounged about in the main room or fiddled around at the workbench used for taxidermy in the trophy room (that proved to be the worst, given that Dipper could barely breathe while visions of being skinned himself ran throughout his head). Whenever Bill wasn't out in the woods Dipper was expected to be present within the vicinity, in the fashion of an attentive dog. At the very least he was allowed to read, an activity that served as a passable distraction, but the lack of privacy began to erode his resolve. 

It was another thing he'd taken for granted back at home; as they'd grown older (and now due to their predicament restricting Mabel to a tank most of the time) he and his sister remained just as close as before, but whenever Dipper needed to breathe he could always find a way to get some time to himself. That was no longer a possibility, and being watched all the time (and never knowing when the next shock would come) left him constantly anxious and skittish, prone to being startled literally all the time. By the time the end of the week rolled around the poor cervitaur was a nervous wreck.

Thus far he'd managed to avoid cracking, regardless of how much the hunter dished out, but Dipper saw himself rapidly reaching the end of his rope and there was little he could do to halt its arrival.

 

* * *

 

He'd tried his best to keep the journal that was pretty much the last remaining tie to his former life pristine, but there were a few pages slightly marred by tear stains. Dipper had read the entire thing from cover to cover, including scouring the contents for invisible text, yet it was still soothing to flip through.

He lingered on the section about ghosts, wishing with all his heart that there was one devoted to sadistic dream demons parading around in the bodies of equally sadistic hunters. 

His brief respite was abruptly interrupted by the sound of the hunter in question calling his name. "Pine Tree."

Dipper's ears slicked back in alarm, and he quickly closed the journal and shoved it beneath his blankets before standing up to approach Bill hesitantly. The hunter didn't seem to be  _angry_  at him; in fact, he appeared to be quite calm, but Dipper knew better by now.

He suppressed a shudder as the hunter reached out to pat his head, condescendingly. "I was thinking, kid. Maybe I should teach you some tricks. Sounds like fun, doesn't it?"

The idea was as far from fun as it could get, but Dipper forced himself to nod in agreement. "Yes."

Bill sighed; fishing out the remote and sending yet another sharp jab into Dipper's neck. "Your enthusiasm is  _overwhelming_. Try that again."

The cervitaur grimaced at the jolt of pain, faking a luminous smile and responding in a voice that he prayed came across as eager enough. "It sounds like a lot of fun, Master."

The show of compliance appeared to please the hunter, who rubbed his hands together excitedly. "That's the spirit! So I'm gonna assume you already know the basic stuff: sit, stay, come, all that jazz.  _But_  maybe you need a refresher.  _Sit_."

_Just do this. Just do this one thing so he'll leave you alone._  Dipper's heart ached at the personal betrayal, but he quietly did as asked, lowering his bottom to the ground and sitting on his haunches. It wasn't a very comfortable position, but the lack of a corresponding shock from the collar made it all worth it. 

"Good boy!" Bill proclaimed. "Alright." He rose to his feet and walked to a halfway point in the room, then stopped and held up a hand indicating that he wished for him to remain where he sat. "Stay."

Dipper had absolutely no problem with that one. He loathed this, but at least the command kept him out of the hunter's reach. 

Bill grinned. "Good! Okay,  _come_."

Dipper stood up and took a single step forward before grinding to a halt. Bill frowned, patting his thighs encouragingly. "Come."

All he had to do was walk forward a few feet; it was such a simple task, but yet...he couldn't make himself comply. It was entirely too much. This was his limit. He wasn't Bill's pet, not a mindless animal devoted to serving him or responding at his beck and call. He withstood the handful of stabbing sensations at the back of his neck, facing the spectre of his nightmares insolently. 

The hunter's grin faded, slowly, and his voice took on a dangerous tone. "Get the fuck over here, kid."

"...no," Dipper said, softly. 

The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees as the hunter's expression shifted into an icy stare. "What was that?"

At that moment, the weeks of abuse and neglect reached a crescendo, and Dipper finally snapped. 

He stamped his left forehoof angrily, voice rapidly rising to a shout. "I'm not your  _fucking_  pet! I'm still human, so the  _least_  you can do is treat me like one. I'm not an animal!"

Bill groaned, as if dealing with a petulant child and rolled his eye. "Oh, I know, Pine Tree. I don't care."

The rage that had flared up within Dipper subsided immediately as he realized just how big of a mistake he'd just made. An apology rose to the surface, unable to breach the lump in his throat. He took a step backwards, scut bumping up against the front of the couch and preventing him from backing away further. His eyes widened and his own irises shrunk to mere pinpricks (it seemed fitting given his current predicament) as the hunter closed in on him, scowling, with cerulean flames that Dipper hadn't seen for quite sometime engulfing both of his hands. "You know," Bill began, reaching out to seize one of the cervitaur's antlers tightly enough to cause Dipper to cry out as the velvet tore within his grip, "I could change you back if I wanted, kiddo, just like that. I just happen to like you better with four legs instead of two."

The revelation didn't come as much of a surprise as it could have; Dipper was well aware of what the hunter was capable of should he choose to actually make use of his abilities, and he was extremely grateful that they hadn't made much of an appearance thus far. But the knowledge that this could all be over, years and years of searching for a cure for both himself and everyone depending on him...it could all be over in a matter of seconds, could have been over so long ago...

It was heartbreaking, really.

He opened his mouth to denounce the hunter as a monster, then closed it; no words were forthcoming from his spasming throat.  _Run run run run run get away_  ran throughout his head, flight instinct taking hold of him completely, and he wrenched his antler out of the hunter's grasp and dashed towards the front door as swiftly as his hooves could carry him. He didn't have any real hope of making it, but there was a glimmer, a minuscule chance that Bill would be so surprised by his show of disobedience that he'd manage to get out of the range of the collar. He didn't know where he was running  _to_ , but he needed to get away, far away from this. As he grew closer and closer to the door (and freedom) that spark of hope grew brighter; his fingers brushed against the doorknob...

And then the collar lit up at an intensity that literally felt like being  _stabbed_ , no more pinpricks but the sensation of something searing into his flesh, causing his legs to give out beneath him, keeling over unceremoniously on the floor close enough to place a hand futilely against the wood. 

The sound of the hunter's boots clumping against the floor neared, and a gloved hand took hold of his injured antler once more, roughly slamming his face against the surface of the door and holding him there. There was a note of amusement in the bastard's voice as he spoke. "Did you just forget about the collar, kid? It's kinda cute how  _stupid_  you are."

"Get away from me," Dipper whispered, weakly; it resulted in another slam against the door, and what could only be blood trickled from his nostrils, clinging to his chin before splashing against the floor. He couldn't see the hunter's face, but he just  _knew_  he was wearing  _that_  smirk, eye glittering with malice; he didn't need visuals at this point.

"So you're feeling brave today, Pine Tree? I thought you were smarter than that."

The slight crackling noise of the collar flaring to life thrummed within his ears, and then his mind went blank; it might as well have been a blade tearing through his skin, and there was no cessation, just continuous  _pain_  that wiped every thought clean. All of the strength faded from his limbs, leaving him limp on the ground, tears cascading down his cheeks as words forced themselves out of his mouth. "Stop, stop, please-"

Fingernails that felt for all the world like claws dug into the velvet on his antler, deliberately scraping against the bone and  _peeling a strip away;_ another stream of blood dampened his hair as he shrieked at the action. "Nah."

It might have been a few seconds or ten minutes or an eternity as far as he was concerned; all he wanted was for it to  _stop_ , he'd give anything for the excruciating pain to just  _stop_. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he heard himself babbling mindlessly. "I won't-"

" _Shut up._ "  _SLAM,_ this time against the floor, three times in succession; blood trickled into his mouth and the coppery taste spread over his tongue, which he'd accidentally bitten into. 

By the time the collar deactivated the cervitaur had dissolved completely, shoulders shaking while he sobbed. He barely noticed as he felt himself being dragged away from the door, flipped over onto his back with his hooves in the air. A heavy boot smashed against his undercarriage with enough force to effectively wind him, and a hand took hold of his chin, forcibly tilting his head so that he had no choice but to stare into the burning eye of his captor. "Let's get something straight, kid," Bill intoned; his voice was different now, a shade less human, and even in his state of distress Dipper recoiled at the sound. "Whether you're physically an animal or not, you're mine. I can do  _whatever_  I want to you,  _whenever_  I want. I can break every single bone in your body, one by one, and then put you together so I can do it again. I can tie you down and skin you alive while you  _beg me_  for mercy and then lop these miserable excuses for antlers off and mount them on the wall.  _I_  decide whether you live or die and how much you suffer in between. Any autonomy you had was forfeited that day I found you out in the woods.  _You are my property now_. Do you understand?" He accentuated each word of the question with a jolt of electricity from the collar, turned up to the max.

"Yes," Dipper replied, reverently, free of shame at doing so. Any trace of defiance left within him had faded away completely. His vision was blurry, and he was dimly aware of a thin stream of saliva working its way along the incline of his cheek. 

"Yes  _what_?"

"Master."

The claws dug through his velvet once more, tearing away another jagged strip, but everything else hurt so much that it was just a drop in the ocean. "And every time you even  _think_  about disobeying me,  I'll make it  _hurt_  just like this. Got it?"

"Yes, Master." At one point the words would have been difficult to give voice to; now they came just as effortlessly as saying his own name. 

The hunter's lips parted, displaying his rows of jagged teeth that didn't belong in a human mouth. "Let's make sure you don't forget this time."

The static in Dipper's head cleared almost instantly as he watched the hunter reach into his pocket and pull out a long, thin, bladed object that he recognized right off the bat as a scalpel. The keen edge caught the overhead lights, gleaming, and his blood ran cold. Somehow he knew what was about to happen, that this would be different from the shallow cuts he'd been subjected to before. "No," he whispered, terrified. "Please don't."

His plea went unheeded; the hunter's grin only widened as he squatted, basically straddling his midsection, and yanked his shirt back to expose his abdomen. "Please don't do this, I won't disobey you again, I'll do whatever you want."

_CRACK_ ; the back of a gloved hand crashed against his cheek, followed by the other seizing his wrists and jerking his arms above his head violently, pinning him to the floor. "Shut up and hold still, Pine Tree."

Tears welled up Dipper's eyes; there was no real humanity to try to appeal to, but he had to try; he couldn't take anymore, his entire body already felt like a single raw, exposed nerve. "No, I-"

The tip of the scalpel rested against the flesh of his abdomen for a split second before parting it easily with very little resistance, slipping into him far more deeply than he'd ever experienced, and an agonized scream tore itself from his bruised throat. The blade continued to slice through his skin, in an unnervingly straight line, and he screamed again, completely unaware of anything but this seemingly endless torment. Nothing in his life had ever hurt this badly, not his broken hindleg, not being grazed with the bullet on what he could now identify as the worst day of his entire life,  _nothing_  in his entire history compared to this. He met the hunter's gaze, pleading, but no mercy was forthcoming; the blade in his his abdomen took a sharp turn, curving to the right, and his next wail of agony caught in his throat in favor of choked sobs. Another curve, followed by another. Above the sound of him beginning to hyperventilate he could hear Bill speaking to him; his eye had narrowed into a thin red slit set within a pool of black, and his voice had dropped several octaves lower than before, a sound torn from the underside of Dipper's nightmares, "Don't you  _ever_ say no to me again." 

The blade withdrew for a second before burying itself in him again, giving way to another perfectly straight line, and Dipper cried, mourning the lost part of himself - the remnants of his humanity that he knew he'd never regain, not after this. 

It was over.

 

* * *

 

Dipper was careful not to spill the contents of the wine glass on his way back to the main room, as he had several times before working to perfect his balance. Although he understood that punishment was for his own good, it was still highly unpleasant, as was the disappointment on the hunter's face while meting it out. Granted, Bill didn't particularly  _look_  unhappy whenever he screwed up and needed his behavior corrected, but Dipper shrugged it off; perhaps the vivid smile on the hunter's face at those times was merely anticipation of him learning his lesson. 

"Thanks, kiddo." The hunter took the glass from him, taking a lengthy sip and exhaling luxuriously; he was already on his third glass and it was quite obvious that he was in good spirits because of it. He turned his attention back to the cervitaur, who stood patiently awaiting confirmation that he'd done a good job. "You know, you really have been a good pet recently."

Dipper beamed at him; the compliment went straight to his head and he involuntarily wagged his tail much like an excited puppy. "Thank you."

The hunter patted the couch next to him, and inwardly Dipper reeled with joy - usually the couch was reserved for people alone, and being allowed to sit on it meant Bill was especially pleased. He hopped up onto the couch and folded his legs beneath him, skillfully maneuvering himself so he could rest his head in the hunter's lap without his antlers getting in the way. A deep sense of pleasure spread throughout his body as Bill began scratching around his ears and at the base of his antlers, smiling down at him with with an expression of adoration. "My precious Pine Tree," he sighed, and Dipper gazed back up at him, eyes shining with devotion.

Dipper's hand strayed to his shirt as it often did, slipping underneath so he could proudly trace the raised scars spread across his abdomen, long-healed but still distinct: a large triangle, with four letters spelling out the name of the most important person in his life inscribed within the center.

He was ever so happy, now that his life had a  _real_  purpose. 

Dipper allowed his eyes to slip shut, drifting off to slumber no longer tarnished by dreams.


End file.
